


Fragments of Other Worlds

by paradajka



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-22
Updated: 2014-03-22
Packaged: 2018-01-13 09:21:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 19,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1221019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paradajka/pseuds/paradajka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bonus round fills done for HSWC 2013.</p><p>Pairings, prompts, ratings, and warnings listed in each chapter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kurloz/Kankri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _"Don't you hate that?"_  
>  _"Hate what?"_  
>  _"Uncomfortable silences. Why do we feel it's necessary to yak about bullshit in order to be comfortable?"_  
>  _"I don't know. That's a good question."_  
>  _"That's when you know you've found somebody really special. When you can just shut the fuck up for a minute and_ _comfortably share silence."_  
>  _\- Pulp Fiction_
> 
> **rating: T  
>  **warnings: mentions of canon self-harm**  
> **

Kankri found it hard at first to remain silent. He often wondered if Kurloz did too, though his friend had never shown signs of frustration at the limitations of his new disability.

(It was a disability, and he would take as much time as necessary to explain it to anyone who doubted that. The stitches were, of course, merely a choice that needed to be respected, but the loss of his tongue definitely counted.)

One thing that helped, tonight at least, was that the gathering was so loud he'd have to fight to be heard. 

(Kurloz had never had to fight to be heard, blessed with a booming voice and all the privilege that came with being hatched on the cooler end of the spectrum. Blessed might not be the best choice of words, though, as alienating as it might be to those who didn't practice organized religion.)

(And of course, it would be rude to speak of his voice, considering.)

Kankri ached to let everyone know how much they were flaunting their privilege as trolls who were able to speak, but that would involve flaunting his own. And so he remained at the edge of the dance floor, biding his time next to someone who would never be able to thank him for it. 

(It was a shame, he thought before thinking better of it, that he'd never heard Kurloz utter the phrase "thank you". He'd heard plenty of words from the other troll, often laced with vitriol and shouted during their arguments that started out as mere discussions, but never a simple expression of gratitude for the enlightenment provided.)

(Stereotyping him as rude because of his position in society would be too easy, and Kankri thought himself above it.)

(But perhaps he could look up the Beforan Standard Sign for "thanks" later and teach it to him. There were so many mimes in the dictionary that Kurloz may have overlooked it while learning other expressions of similar necessity.)

The song changed abruptly to the Troll Macarena, and Meenah shouted over for them to _get your basses over here_. They stood up together and Kankri looked to Kurloz, silently motioning for him to go first. Kurloz smiled back at him, stitches pulling in a way Kankri would have thought painful, and went ahead.

(Staying silent may have been his best choice of the night.)

(The Troll Macarena was, of course, another good choice, considering it was something they were all able to do together regardless of ability to speak, smell, or hear.)

(He spent much of it watching how smoothly Kurloz was able to move his arms and hands. With that kind of dexterity he probably wouldn't have much issue fluently miming in lieu of speaking.)

(Kankri would need to consider picking up a working knowledge of the language himself; he missed their dialogues far too much to let them lapse on account of silence.)


	2. Gamzee<>Karkat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"And he still thinks, in the little bit of his head that's still him, that he's not a zombie. That he's not dead, that there's a threshold he hasn't stepped over. But he crossed it long time ago."_   
>  _-Neil Gaiman_
> 
> **rating: M**   
>  **warnings: bodily fluids/functions (blood), graphic depictions of violence/gore (puncturing the skin), mentions of abuse (physical), trypophobia, mentions of gun violence, undeath?**   
> 

"Bro, it's not even that bad."

"Not that bad? _Not that bad_? You were just shot seven times. You stopped breathing for three minutes. There are bullet holes in your shirt. You must be mistaking me for a brain-damaged, blind sloth if I'm supposed to believe that it's 'not that bad'."

You just shrug, lifting your shirt to poke at the slowly closing holes. Most of the bullets went clean through, but there's one that's all been stuck in there, not too far from the surface. You squish your finger and thumb in to fish it out.

"What are you doing now?"

"Gotta get it out, best friend. Can't be having it stay on in there." They've gotta come out at some point and it's easier now while the hole's still open and you can find it easy. You learned that one early, back when you still lived at home and your younger brother would use you for target practice. 

"That's disgusting." You look up, grinning, only to find Karkat's got his eyes covered with one hand.

The bullet digs out without much problem, and you're satisfied by the _clink_ it makes as it hits the ground.

"Put your shirt down, trashbrain; you're gonna scare someone." 

It's funny, 'cause you're pretty sure no one's even gonna see you in this dark alleyway but Karkat and letting your blood-soaked shirt drop back down ain't doing much for how peaky he looks, like he's gonna pass out if you breathe on him the wrong way or something. 

"Fuck," he mutters under his breath, unzipping his hoodie and throwing it at you. "Put it on and let's go."

"Not too sure I can do that yet, bro." Your legs are feeling mighty heavy and you wonder if one of the bullets nicked your spine. But when you reach down to pull your smokes and lighter out of your jeans pocket they move fine so maybe it's just the bloodloss. Or the lack of oxygen. You're not some doctor, though, so you barely waste time speculating. You'll be fine in a bit like you always are and that's good enough for you.

Karkat makes a disgusted noise and you wonder for a second if he's gonna up and grab you. Carry you back to his apartment bridal-style or some shit. But all he does is squat right next to you and arrange the hoodie on your shoulders while you light up. 

"Don't you ever fucking do that again," he says all soft and serious-like. 

You don't got an answer for that. You can't say it'll never happen again but you could promise it wouldn't kill you if it did. Even now, though, all out of it from your body putting all it's work into closing those holes up, you know that won't be an answer he wants to hear. So instead you just pat his face with your hand, chuckling as he squawks at the blood you smear up on his face and drags it around futilely with his shirtsleeve. 

"Don't touch me again until you've showered, dickweed," he sneers, but he sits down beside you and waits your healing out all the same.


	3. Psiioniic<3Sufferer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _And when the world just treats you wrong_   
> _Just come with us and we'll take you home_   
> _Shan, shan shan shan-gri la_   
> _Na na na na na na na na na na na_
> 
> _\- Janelle Monae; 'Many Moons'_
> 
> **rating: T**   
> **warnings: mentions of canon death**

"Mituna?" the stranger asks. "Mituna Captor?"

You're taken aback at first, by this strange troll who knows your hatchname. You brush him off and hide out for nights, unsure of whether he is as dangerous as someone from the ship you escaped or as harmless as a wigglerhood friend you've forgotten. As it turns out, he is neither. What he _is_ turns out to be strange, though, in the other sense of the word. 

When you're just getting acquainted it's obvious that he knows you well, if only from another time. No one but your closest friends (of which you have none) would know you love to raise bees (and would have a house of your own if you weren't a vagrant and a fugitive), that your favorite feeling is that of the wind rushing through your hair as you fly using the strength of your psionics, that you hate everything about the society you were hatched into.

So in lieu of introducing yourself you spend your time learning about him. He is Kankri Vantas, so named because he was given it in the other world he speaks of so often you almost believe it true. He travels with his lusus Porrim, a jadeblood who turned her back on the breeding caves to ensure that he could live past hatching. He dreams of the place he used to live, once upon a time, where trolls would never purposefully kill or maim and there was peace across the planet. He gives sermons wherever and whenever it is safe enough, to as many trolls as will listen, preaching about the Alternia he thinks you can all achieve with enough determination.

What he doesn't often say is that the memories are not just of peace and happiness. He remembers vividly being the obnoxious troll his friends would barely tolerate, can tell you in great detail how it feels to die in a large explosion, recalls exactly how tough it was watching you relearn everything after some accident permanently damaged your pan. 

"We weren't close, Mituna," he says after he tells you about the injury. "I regret deeply that we didn't really get along."

"It's okay," you say, because what else can you?

*

Days later it's your turn to be lookout while the others sleep. You almost don't hear him approach.

"Another daymare?"

"I... Yes. An old one. One I think you should know about." 

He proceeds to tell you of your matesprit, a beautiful teal girl you were with from five and a half sweeps up until your death. He speaks of her as if he loved her too and you can see why you would have, if you were to meet her here. When he mentions the time she shattered her sniffnodes so badly everyone worried she'd be culled you stiffen.

"You fought," he says, "to make sure she wasn't. And she wasn't. And it wasn't... Culling didn't mean death, there, though it still doesn't feel to me like it was something good. That's what I like about you, knowing you're too stubborn to let society stop you. That's why I'm glad I was able to find you."

"I wouldn't let them cull you either," you say. "I won't. I'd rather die."

Kankri's eyes well up with mutant-red tears and you kiss them away. You kiss him a lot, that day. 

You're too much of a skeptic to ever believe you'll get to the paradise he dreams of, but you'll stand by his side and go with him as close as he can take you.


	4. Cronus<3<Kurloz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"The first rule of magic is always be the smartest guy in the room." - Now You See Me_
> 
> **rating: T**   
>  **warnings: mind control, consent issues involving ambiguous actions that are 100% not sexual, mentions of alcohol & drug use, Cronus being Cronus**

Cronus never thought he'd get a kismesis before he got a matesprit. Nice guy he is, he's made for redrom, but Kurloz does something to him. Gets him angry. It's just... It's so unfair that _he_ has two quadrants filled when Cronus has none. 

_Had_ none. He's got a kismesis now. 

But, really, what does that guy have that he doesn't? He was weird before with all his talk about that death angel guy and how everyone was an affront to his made-up god and he's even weirder now that he doesn't say anything, just hangs around the edges of the group like some kind of ghost. And those curls! Who even bothers with curly hair anymore? All the real cool cats slick it back. All that product he uses is fuckin' going to waste. 

Why anyone would be attracted to him Cronus just doesn't know. 

Well, okay, Mituna he gets, because Kurloz is so obviously not right in the head that _someone_ was gonna pity him enough in that way, and Captor thrives on fretting over things so of course he'd spend his time worrying over the one guy that won't tell him to piss off. (The fact he's never been much of a good listener when Cronus has been in real emotional distress over tangible things and not just angsting over a nightmare or whatever says a lot about him, though.)

But what about Meulin? What does _she_ see in the guy? Cronus isn't buying that he's interesting in the least, no matter how loud she laughs when he starts waving his hands around and making a spectacle of himself. Kurloz is the least funny clown Cronus has ever met. Most of the clowns he's met aren't that funny, actually, though he's certain there's gotta be one or two out there that share his sense of humour. 

And how can she stand kissing him, what with the greasepaint that probably gets all over everything it touches? And the stitches. Waste of a good pair of lips, Cronus thinks. He hasn't bothered kissing Kurloz because of that and because it's not gonna be any fun without tongue or teeth. He's absolutely certain of this fact. 

They haven't really done anything, Cronus will admit, because he's nothing if not honest to a fault. But that's not for lack of trying. It's just frustratingly hard to convince Kurloz to take off even one piece of his macabre get-up. He's got every inch of his skin covered with fabric or that stupid paint like he's too shy to show off his body or something. And not the attractive kind of shy either. The frustrating kind. 

Cronus would never act like that, not unless the situation warranted it. He's comfortable with his body and knows that a lot of trolls would be disappointed if he just shut down the gun show altogether. Gun show as in he shows off his muscular arms. Not the other kind. Although Ahab's Crosshairs is a pretty good show in and of itself sitting with the safety on in its glass case. Shows he's not afraid to get violent if need be. Impresses a lot of trolls. 

But enough about other trolls. He should talk about the best part of having a kismesis. There are days when Kurloz comes over and they just sit around. Maybe they have a drink or a few rolls of 'nip (no matter how much he hates the guy, he'll admit Kurloz is a good source for illicit substances). Cronus usually airs all his grievances and Kurloz just sits there and smiles his disgusting smile. Cronus tells him off about his disgusting smile. Kurloz makes a few weird gestures that are probably rude or something and then...

Well, that's it. Cronus wakes up the next night and doesn't remember anything. It's pretty much the best feeling. 

There aren't any cool bruises or scratches he can brag about, though. But sometimes there's dirt under his clawtips and occasionally there are scrapes on his fins. Once he smelled so strongly of seawater he could have sworn he'd spent the day in the ocean. Only he was with Kurloz and Kurloz doesn't swim and there's no way he'd walk out on a romantic day just to go swimming. Besides being rude and guaranteeing he wouldn't get another date it would mess up what he's got going on with his hair. He's pretty sure it's not long until it's known as his signature look and he'd hate to be seen around anyone with it looking less than perfect. 

But whatever they've been doing it must have been great and related in some way to their budding blackrom. Cronus is sure of it.


	5. Meenah/Mituna

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"but you once told me, we are most alive in that split second before death."- andrea gibson_
> 
> **rating: T**   
>  **warnings: mention of bullying, mention of childhood cancer**

"Come on," he says, and you've got nothing better to do so you do, hopping on the front of his longboard and shutting your eyes for the second he takes to push off and send you both flying down the hill. You can feel his breath on your face alongside the wind, feel his arm around your waist as yours wraps around his. 

This buoy. You never thought in a million years you'd be attracted to someone like him. Too much hair, too many teeth, scratches and scrapes all over from falling. A voice that sounds like he's talking around water if he doesn't concentrate hard enough. He wears a helmet, knee- and elbow-pads when he skates because he crashes so much, but he always gets up and tries again. He's stubborn as a salmon swimming upstream and he almost always gets it right eventually. 

You join what he tries to pass off as a skateboard gang 'cause sometimes you wanna spread your fins and get away from Serket's overbearing Serketness. Mostly it's just you and him and his friend Latula, whose high-fives leave your hand stinging for like ten minutes afterwards and make you hate seeing her master a new trick or get down a hill in one piece. Sometimes The Freak comes along too (that's not your nickname; it's what the whole school calls him) (school is a subtle fish pun, by the way). He's got an honest-to-Cod unicycle and between that and the paint he looks like he stepped right out of a travelling circus. Occasionally his gillfrond shows up too. She's as loud as he is quiet and sometimes you wonder how you haven't gone deaf from her shrieking every time someone does something halfway decent. 

Sometimes, no, most of the time you wonder how you ended up with this crew of weirdos and then you remember it's all Mituna's fault. 

*

"Last night I had a dream about you," he says as you're relaxing on the grass at the bottom.

"Oh?" Tunafish is crude but he ain't crude enough to tell you about his wet dreams is he?

"It was a nightmare. You wrapped me up in octopus tentacles or some shit and made me fly a spaceship," he says.

"Well, shit, buoy. I was expecting somethin' halfway sexual but I didn't know tentaporn was your kink too."

"It's not, fishfucker. I basically only get nightmares, which figures with my brain—"

"Me too." Gonna cut him off before shit gets sea-rious here. "Y'know, like blowing up all my friends or being some alien ruler whose entire race dies a horrible death or instating juggalo presidents to run the country. Weird shit like that."

"So it's not just us, then." He absently scratches a healing scab. "Kurloz gets them too," he clarifies. "That's why he—" He cuts himself off, kicking the ground in disgust. "Shit. Fuck. Stupid, stupid, I wasn't supposed to—"

"Clam down. I won't tell anyone 'boat Clownfish's weird problems. He's my franemone too. I guess. Sort of."

"Franemone? Really?" 

"Okay, so that was kinda weak."

" _Kinda_?" He rummages through his backpack, then grabs your hand and scrawls what resembles a deformed starfish in permanent marker on the back of it. 'You tried' it says in messy script in the centre.

"Harsh. Or is that what you get from Freakface every time you do a trick without falling?"

"It's not my fault!" He shoves you with his shoulder. "You know my balance is all fucked up."

"Yeah, yeah, huge tumor, shitty motor skills, I know. I was just messing with you."

You've seen the scar hidden under his hair and if you didn't know what it was from you'd think he fell trying to land a jump or something. That the helmet was just extra insurance instead of a necessity if he doesn't want to split his head open.

*

When you kiss for the first time it's kind of terribubble. You've got your lips puckered up and your cheeks puffed out like a blowfish when he decides to ambush you with his mouth. His helmet knocks against your forehead and you sputter against him and get drool all over both your faces. 

When he pulls away you reach up to undo the chinstrap and chuck it as far as you can while pulling him into another.

"What the fuck?! I'm gonna lose it again!" he shrieks when you pull away.

"Chillax, 'Tuna, I'll buy you a new one. You know I've got mad coin in my bank account."

Before he can take a stab at how disgustingly rich you are you pull him into a third.


	6. Gamzee<3<Kurloz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"If any cleric or monk speaks jocular words, such as provoke laughter, let him be an anathema." - Ordinance of the Second Council of Constance (1418)_
> 
> **rating: T**   
>  **warnings: incest**

He's disgusting, your blood brother. Spewing words from wicked lips, laughing that honking, echoing laugh. It's a joke to him, this faith that fills you with pride, waking up every night knowing you are pure and silent and holy, that your sins and misdeeds remain in the past, forgiven if not forgotten. 

It should be you who holds court for the Chosen One, the Angel of Double Death, the One True Messiah, not this unkempt facsimile. You should be as you were in the world after the Scratch: highest of the high, leader of all Believers. This dirty child should not be allowed to behold the wonders of someone so sacred.

And yet the prophecies have selected him, so despite the anger you might feel somewhere deep within yourself you must do his bidding. 

It feels so wrong not to be at peace with one of your Lord's hallowed decisions, but your bloodpusher doesn't always follow what you tell it to be true. You keep your Mage and your Heir close, after all, despite knowing the ache when they are double-killed in retribution will put you in pain two-fold. Your Bard... No, _The Bard_. The Bard who was divined in the stars and written in the scripts will be spared. And your anger grows at the knowledge.

How should it be that someone so vile, so reprehensible can survive? Can be nigh-immortal when those you care for are mere steps from being reduced to nothing? Can do things you have dreamed of for two lifetimes and a circuitous afterlife without even wanting it so?

You extend your 'voodoos into his mind. You do not intend to do too much harm; you cannot, because his usefulness is foretold. What you find sickens you to your core. His mind is scattered, fractured, rent. How someone so revered by your church could inflict such damage upon himself through ignorance baffles you. Enrages you. You wish you could tear into him the way you did to your palest brother, to take his thoughts and twist them into knives, drive them deep into the recesses of his pan. To break in a way that cannot be fixed. 

You want to overpower him, throw him back against the wall and seal those lips of his with your own. Shut his sacrilegious speechtrap and bite his tongue, for alone he will never learn the value in biting it himself. Show him all the ways in which he must do penance, must atone for being such a loathsome creature yet so adored by so many long-dead followers. You want to tear him to shreds with your claws, pull him apart bit by bit and put him back together as someone worthy of your service. 

"Get the fuck out of my pan, _Kurloz_." He pronounces your name with such venom as he thrusts your mind out of his. His 'voodoos are strong but imprecise, smacking you hard with vague fear that is easily overcome mentally if not physically. Your hands shake as you ball them into fists. There are few trolls in front of whom you would allow such weakness. Gamzee does not rank among them.

"I'm gonna puke from all that projecting noise you got flickering into my head. Got enough shit in there without you making me picture all that."

Your face does not belie the shock that you went too far without knowing. You pride yourself on your ability to divine black romance before even the participants themselves are able to. It's easy, sensing the kernels of hate deep inside other trolls, but you've tamped yours down so deep for so long you were barely able to recognize it there until your feelings had bubbled to the surface. It's humiliating, to act so foolish before someone so important, but what's passed has passed. If your Lord allows someone as base as Gamzee such a valued position he will forgive this transgression. 

Your ancestor-descendant is gone in the blink of an ocular, leaving without a single word. You remain in silence, ruminating on your feelings.


	7. Aradia<>/<3Tavros

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kitty Hawk, 1903
> 
> **rating: G**   
>  **no warnings**

You have to really work to push Tavros' chair over the sand. It's not made for this kind of terrain. It's not made for much of anything except sitting in and looking fragile. He's not fragile, or sad, or pathetic, though; he's your best friend and you know what happens here has the potential to make him happier than he has been in months. 

It's a cold winter morning but you barely feel it, sweating from exertion in a way you know your mother would say is unladylike. Tavros is gripping the blanket on his lap like it's the only thing keeping him from falling out of the chair every time you give it a shove. 

"Are you sure?" he asks. "I mean, we could go back if you don't think you can do this."

"I'm not turning back. We're almost there!" Just... not quite. You can make out the shape of the flying machine in the distance, the smaller shapes of people milling around it, getting ready to get it off the ground. You can't imagine what that will look like. 

"Well, maybe you should take a break, or something, before you pass out because I'm not really sure what will happen, if something happens to you." He looks concerned. You pat his shoulder and smile a tired smile at him.

"Okay, I'll stop for a bit. We can sort of see from here anyway." 

You take a seat next to his chair, not caring that you're getting sand all over your dress. 

"Do you really think they can do this?" Tavros asks after a bit of silence, voice small and worried. 

"I'm sure they can! I heard they were up here last year with a glider and that worked."

"I just... don't want to see them fall. That would really be a not fun experience, for them, and also for us to watch." He chews his lip nervously. You know he's thinking about his own fall. In some ways you're surprised it didn't change his opinion on flying from wonderment to fear. But the first time you went to see him after his accident he told you how great it had felt, to be weightless for a few seconds before hitting the ground. That's why the second you heard these brothers from Ohio were going to try to get their flying machine off the ground you knew he had to be there to see it, no matter what it took. 

You reach up and grab his hand. 

"Thanks," he says. "For doing this."

*

When it finally gets off the ground, gliding through the air like a giant bird, Tavros gasps. The look on his face is one of awe and wonder and happiness. It reminds you of when you were both children, running free through the fields surrounding his parents' farmhouse. 

You leap up and give him a kiss on the cheek. He turns his head and kisses you back.


	8. Gamzee<3Jane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1930's Great Depression, UK
> 
> **rating: T**

You know you're lucky to still have money. You're grateful every day for the inheritance your grandmother left you that, while not as plentiful as it once was, provides you with enough money to keep yourself fed and sheltered, the only two things that really matter anymore.

That's why you help out at the soup kitchen. You're a good baker, you make the best bread of anyone you know, so why not share it with the truly needy? That's what an heiress should do, help those who don't have the luck to have been born into riches.

That's how you meet Gamzee. He shows up one day, lined up in the queue with the rest of the unfortunates you help to provide for. He doesn't even look any different, skinny and dirty and hungrily watching you dole out his portion of soup. It's when he comes back for more that he catches your eye. 

"There's only enough for one bowl each," you tell him sadly. It's hard turning away people who are hungry when they ask for more but there are so many that need this and no way you can give preferential treatment.

"Figured," he says, a smile ghosting across his face. He's not from around here, you can tell by his accent. "But maybe a brother can help some with preparing. Doesn't have to lead to more food, just don't have much else to be doing lately."

"Well, I suppose if you'd like we can get you chopping vegetables." There's always a need for volunteers. Too many have no choice but to stand on the other side of the serving table so if someone wants to help out you can't very well turn them away.

"Bitchtits," he says. Such a strange phrase. He's definitely not spent much time here. "Gamzee Makara," he adds, "Pleased to meet your acquaintance." He holds out his hand.

"Jane Crocker. Likewise," you say, taking it.

And so begins an unlikely relationship. Gamzee starts on chopping carrots and celery for the soup and eventually moves to helping you make the dough for your bread. His tastes almost as good as yours, though you'd never admit it. 

He's a strange fellow with an infectious laugh and a true affinity for all things baked. He came from money up north but lost it all when the slump started and has been drifting from town to town like a vagabond since. He lives in a rooming house and manages to scrape together enough to keep his room there by selling what he can. You've offered to help him out but he always brushes you off with an, "it's chill, sis, I've got enough."

His grammar is atrocious, but he doesn't respond to any of your delicate corrections. You think he might not even notice them. 

"What're you getting your think on about there, Janey?" he asks one day out of the blue.

"Me? I'm just, uh." You're a bit flustered at being called out on your thoughts when they're about him.

"Just seems like you're thinking real deep on something, thought maybe you wanted to spit it out. But secrets are cool too. Heh. Not like a brother doesn't have secrets of his own."

"I was just thinking... If, perhaps you'd like to join me for supper tomorrow night instead of eating here." Oh, no, too forward, you think. "I mean, not that you have to, if you don't want. And it's not like this is something other than a friendly invitation. Between friends. Because we've known each other long enough we might consider ourselves friends." Now you've really put your foot in it. 

Gamzee chuckles softly. "Yeah. Yeah, I could be getting my like on for that. You know how to cook shit other than soup or what?"

"Of course I do!" You're almost offended now, embarrassment quickly forgotten. "If you don't think it's the best meal you've eaten in your entire life I'll eat my hat!"

"Well if you're as good a cook as you say it'd probably taste better than the shit I used to eat before I got here. Might even wanna share that with you too."


	9. Darkleer<3/<3<Disciple

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Sufferer's Trial, Alternia
> 
> **rating: T**   
>  **warnings: mentions of blood, mentions of canon death, mentions of canon (and non-canon) violence/gore (puncturing the skin), sadstuck**

You hate him from the second you lay eyes on him, and it intensifies when he fires the arrow at your beloved. Kankri was never quite your matesprit, what you had was something more. Something that encompassed all the feels you'd imagined were possible when every quadrant was filled. And now he's nothing more than a criminal on a jut, tortured and killed in the name of the empire he wanted to change. 

You wanted to change it too. You did. But now all you want is to have him back, to have those days alone in temporary shelters after Mituna and Porrim had fallen asleep, when he'd brush your hair while telling you what you were like in another time, then turn you around and kiss you with all the red tenderness you'd dreamed of from wigglerhood. 

But you'll never get him back. He's gone. They're all gone. Everyone is to blame but he stands out in your mind more than the rest. The one who drew first blood, that red blood you had come to love for it's uniqueness. 

Kankri used to speak with such passion, such undying belief in the things he wanted to achieve. (You choose not to think of him just before he died.) This troll tries to plead that he feels bad for what he took part in but you don't want to hear it. You want to scratch and claw and make him bleed his stupid blue blood, the stuff that makes him think he's so much better than the rest of you. 

He's not. No one is. You'll take that teaching to your death, as it's the only one that really matters anymore. 

He comes to apologize nightly and nightly you push him away, rake at his hard grey skin, reject his kindness because he couldn't afford you any in the time you most needed it.

(There's a part of you that knows he would have been killed if he'd done so, if he'd even known how much Kankri meant to you. If he'd known the full story at all, besides "mutant traitor committing treason against the Glorious Empire". That letting you go free was dangerous enough for him. But you're almost far-gone enough you can ignore it.)

He's good to you, better than you deserve, treating him as you do. He brings you meals, tends to your wounds before tending to his own, never tells anyone of your hiding place. You know he's left the army, that he's in hiding as much as you are, that when he begs your forgiveness he really, earnestly wants it. 

You might say you loved him, if your heart didn't already belong to another.


	10. Sollux<>Mituna

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> England, Post WW1, War Poets
> 
> **rating: T**   
>  **mentions of death, mentions of past violence to specific body parts (eyes), mental health issues (depression, passive suicidal thoughts, ptsd), mentions of war, character not coping well with recent disability, ableism, incest (it's pale, but just to be safe)**

Relying solely on your hearing you notice just how awful your brother's speech is. You're so used to it you can parse what he's saying through his stumbles and mispronunciations, but you know few others can. 

It wasn't so bad in the trenches, where it was hard to hear over the gunfire, but back in the city you're having to be his translator again. The blind leading the stupid, or so it seems to everyone else.

Mituna isn't stupid or slow like most think at first. He's eerily perceptive and sharp-tongued. But he's so hard to be around most don't notice, especially since you both came back. He's unpredictable now - laughing one moment and tossing things around in frustration the next. And it's not like you can do much to help him, not when you can't keep an eye on him. 

You can't keep an eye on anyone. The war took them away along with Mituna's calm and so many of your friends' lives. Most of the time you wish it had taken everything else from you too, so you wouldn't be doomed to spending the rest of your days in your family home alongside your brother. 

Sometimes you think Mituna is the dumbest asshole alive, to take you home with him instead of leaving you in the hospital to rot. Why would he want the burden of someone who can't even get across the house without running into furniture, who can no longer do the one thing he was any good at?

*

In the trenches what free time you had was just waiting time. Waiting to be called back to the front, waiting for sleep to come, waiting to be killed like the guy who'd sat next to you the night before. Mituna would tell crude jokes while your fellow soldiers wrote letters to their girls back home. You would just write. 

You have paper after paper of poems somewhere. You haven't asked where they are. You don't remember what they say, don't want anyone reading them aloud to you like you're some kind of invalid who can't read for himself. You like to pretend the written word doesn't exist. 

*

One spring morning while you're still in bed Mituna enters your room. He scuffs his feet across the floor in a way you know is ruining the wood, just so you can hear him coming (though with the way he stomps around you can generally hear him anyway, making it a pointless exercise). He's shuffling something that sounds like paper. Bills, maybe? You wonder how many people you owe money at this point. 

"These are really good, Sollux," he says as the mattress dips from him sitting on the end of your bed.

"What?" 

"This shit you were writing back in Wipers."

Oh. So that's what it is. Just your personal, private things.

"You read it?" Your tone borders on accusitory.

"Why the fuck not? Someone's gotta read it. You should write a book or something. Augh, no, I'll help you write a book." The bed bounces. "Sorry. Fuck, I forgot you can't write. Sorry."

"It's okay." You reach out, hoping you can grab him to calm him down. Your hand brushes what feels like his arm and you hold onto it. If he ruins your things you'll be pissed, even if most of them are useless to you now. 

"Calm the fuck down, MT. It's fine. I quit writing."

"Why would you quit, shithead? You hafta keep doing it. You're really good."

" _Was_ really good. Now I'm just some blind ex-soldier."

"And I'm some stupid honorable discharge with a screw loose. Who the fuck cares about that. I'll get paper and we can fucking do this!" He runs off and then quickly runs back, presumably with supplies in hand. "Okay, tell me the words."

"I can't just give you words; it doesn't work like that. I need inspiration or something."

"Close your eyes and just— Shitfuck. Forgot, sorry."

You sigh and do the metaphorical equivalent, taking a deep breath and retreating into your imagination. "Darkness envelops the battlefield; casting shadows over hiding places; hiding wounds that haven't yet healed; obscuring dead men's faces..." you begin. You hear the scraping of pen on paper but Mituna is silent for once. "That's shit, isn't it? Absolute shit. I can't even do this anymore."

"It's fucking brilliant, Sollux. I told you you got all the fucking brains in this family." He pats your shoulder and you know he's smiling at you. "Now keep going."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (vocab note: Wipers is what British soldiers called Ypres)


	11. Aradia<>Tavros

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Fire; New York City, 1911
> 
> **rating: T**   
> **warnings: death**

It's quiet in the apartment with Aradia gone. Alternian custom dictates that a dead troll's things go to the moirail first, then the matesprit and kismesis, and finally the auspistices. Anything else is left for the next generation to scavenge.

This isn't Alternia, though; it's New York City, the biggest city in United States, Earth. You didn't want to move here, preferring to build hive in a rural area like you had back home but Aradia said it would be a good experience. And, besides, there aren't many cities that are kind to troll refugees, or let them take any sort of job, so it was a good thing she'd found work in the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory, making clothing for humans. 

It was a good thing.

And then, the fire...

You don't like to think about the fire. It's not something you find pleasant to remember happened not far from where you and Aradia— Where _you_ live.

You should ask Sollux if he wants any of her things, probably. The closest thing she had to a kismesis was Vriska and she's still back home so you don't really need to reach out to her. You're kind of glad for that because thinking of her still makes you feel kind of uncomfortable, even sweeps later. 

Sometimes, when you're lying on your human bed (there's no sopor on Earth and consequently no recuperacoons to put it in) you think you can feel her right next to you, where she used to lie when one of you was having a bad day or night. She'd run her warm hand along the side of your face and tell you that it was only temporary, that one day she would find a job where she wasn't sewing shirtwaists six days a week and you would get more work coaxing rats out of rich humans' homes (or at least get paid better for it) (sometimes you wish you didn't still walk with a limp because maybe then you could get a job doing hard labour for better pay like all the human men in your building and then Aradia wouldn't have had to—)

You miss her. Sometimes you wish they had husktops on Earth so that when your vision starts to go blurry and brown you could talk to Gamzee or Karkat or Kanaya to distract yourself from how much it hurts to have the other half of your diamond gone. Or that you had been able to sneak your Fiduspawn onto the planet with you. You don't care if everyone thinks it's a wiggler game; it's fun and comforting and distracting and exactly what you'd like to do with your time right now. 

But you don't have your husktop or your Fiduspawn or anything except your hive in a human apartment building and a few hivehold items, some of which belong to Aradia, and two rats that live in the walls that you sometimes tell to come out and spend time with you because there isn't anyone else around.

You guess, looking on the bright side, it is a good thing the two of you hadn't stayed back home, because then you would have been culled at least a sweep and a half ago, for being too crippled to join the cavalreapers (or the army in any capacity), and Aradia would have ended up as someone's slave instead of—

You're tired. Maybe you'll sleep for awhile. You always see her in your dreams.


	12. Caliborn<3Gamzee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Camden, NJ, 1953; Establishment of the church of Scientology.
> 
> **rating: M**   
> **warnings: religion, abuse (physical, verbal), mentions of drugs, mentions of death, mentions of war, mental health issues, internalized homophobia**

You sit in rapture of his voice. He speaks clear and the words slip into your hearstems and burrow themselves deep in your brain. 

_Other methods are stupid. Most people don't realize. Because they are stupid as well. But you all understand. Or will understand just how stupid you were not to know this._

Shit ain't been so good for you since you got back from the war. You weren't there but a few months but some've what you saw hasn't left 'cept for the times you get something not-quite-medicinal to take all your thoughts away. It's gone now too, though, listening to this man speak of how you gotta stop that shit, gotta get in touch with your spiritual well-being. Gotta listen to your soul 'cause that's all you got. 

Sometimes afterward you get alone time with him, get to lay yourself bare before the man what speaks all this truth at you during daytime hours. It's wrong and you know it is, to want what you want from him, for his mouth to press against yours and all manner of romantic things to come pouring from those lips of his, but you can't stop your thoughts from going that way like you can't stop from thinking of the cute boy in your unit who up and got himself blown clear in half from all the gunfire and the look in his eyes as they went all glassy and blank and his breathing stopped for good. 

You need what punishment this man can give you, when he tells you you're filthy and disgusting and will never amount to anything if you don't follow his teachings. And you wanna make something of yourself, wanna be important and noticed and loved so you do what he says, you take the blows he impresses upon you in the name of everything holy. He'll make you a better person, a better soul. You just have to do everything in your power to keep him happy and wanting you around. 

"Come here," he tells you. "Come closer." And you kneel before him like you're at the church you haven't been to since you were a child, praying between your dad and brother - both long-departed, thetans gone off and come back down to Earth, living somewhere else in the ignorance you were living in before you found salvation here. Before you found Caliborn. 

He backhands you across the face and it feels like healing.


	13. Feferi<>Gamzee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 13th Century Scotland
> 
> **rating: T**   
>  **warnings: blood, mentions of death**

The men come back from battle bloody but triumphant. You stand on tiptoe, searching the crowd for Gamzee. When you finally find him most have disbursed, gone off to celebrate their victory.

He just stands there, drenched in blood and wild-eyed. When you get close he flinches, raising his spear as if to strike.

You're not scared. It's Gamzee, the friendly son of a high-ranking member of the Peixes clan. He wouldn't hurt a fly. 

The spear drops to the ground. You raise a hand to pat his bloody face.

"Shh. It's Feferi, love. Let's get you cleaned up."

Besides a nasty cut above his right eye there's barely a scratch on him. But, then, most of the men who came back are in the same shape. Worse wounds wouldn't have been able to withstand the trek.

*

Later you find him at the cliffs, just sitting there staring out at the ocean. You know it calms him like no other thing in this world. It calms you too; your mam always says it was the only thing to stop you crying as a babe, to listen to the waves crash against the rocks below. 

"Are you okay, Gam _sea_? You've been _reel_ y quiet."

"Just been thinkin', sis. Not much else been going on up here but that." He taps the side of his head, finger sliding into messy curls you long to brush.

"Were you scared?" you ask. You can imagine he might have been. He's easily startled and surrounded by screaming, fighting men you could see him getting overwhelmed.

"Nah, just..." he trails off, looking out into the ocean like it might answer for him. "I kinda got my enjoy on for it. Got some kinda aptitude for killing, I think. Better at it than most've our elders. But I'm not so sure if that's something I should be getting all prideful about."

"That's a great thing, though! You'll be able to protect us all the better during battle."

"Yeah, but sis am I s'posed to be enjoying it so much?"

"I'm sure the other men enjoy it just as much! You saw them _shell_ ebrating when everyone got back."

"Yeah..."

"Don't clam up on me! It'll be okay, you'll _sea_."

"Yeah?" A smile swims across his face. 

"Of course! It'll be peaceful awhile yet and you'll forget all a- _boat_ the battle in no time."

You sit next to him awhile, leaning against him for warmth as the air chills and the sun sets over the water.


	14. Kurloz<3Meulin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Just Give Me A Reason - P!nk ft. Nate Ruess_   
>  _Unity - Shinedown_   
>  _Wake Up - Coheed and Cambria_
> 
> **rating: T  
>  **warnings: mentions of blood****

You can't say you aren't nervous the first day you spend alone with Kurloz after what happened. It's weird, though, because you barely even remember it. One moment you were curled up beside him, listening to him murmur softly into your hair as you drifted into sleep and the next you were awake and everything was fuzzy and silent and your face was wet with blood and he was—

You'd rather not think about the expression on his face. You don't think he could even see you, lost screaming about something only he knows about. It's not your place to ask what was going on. That's Mituna's job, to figure out what's wrong in your mates _purr_ it's pan and make it better. And he's getting better! Better enough he isn't bothered by the idea of sleeping over again. At least, you hope he isn't. He hasn't told you much, but he never tells you much about his feelings, mostly just talks on and on about his spooky religion. 

Or, he did. But he's getting better at miming his sermons just like you're getting better at understanding them. You can see the passion in his eyes when he describes the coming of the Angel of Double Death, even now that his face is far less expressive. You love how animated he gets when he talks about it, how obvious it is that he believes what he's saying with all his heart. That passion is what drew you to him in the _fur_ st place. 

*

You can't sleep. At first you didn't think either of you would be able to, but at some point while you were lying on Kurloz's chest, feeling it rise and fall with each breath (it's a different sensation from listening to his pump biscuit beating, but the reminder that the object of your affections is alive underneath you feels romantic all the same) his eyes slipped shut and haven't opened since. 

It's dangerous to sleep out of 'coon, that's what started this in the first place, but you don't want to wake him unless you absolutely have to and are hesitant to just leave him and climb into yours alone. He looks so peaceful asleep, not searching for a way to say what's on his mind or anxiously grabbing your arm to get your attention so he can get out the thoughts he can't show you any other way. And his face is just as beautiful, paint barely smudged at all even at this late hour. There's a bit on the tip of one of his curls that you smooth away with your fingers. 

He's perfect, deserving of being half of your ultimate OTP. You don't think anything could change how much you pity him. 

You decide to do some writing while he sleeps, but just when you get to the steamy part you see movement out of the corner of your eye. Kurloz twitches a bit, eyelids fluttering. It's probably a daymare. Your breath catches in your throat. What if...

No. It's not going to be the same. You reach out and shake his shoulder.

"Kurzorz, wake up."

His eyes snap open, and you swear you see them flash purple for a second. You can see fear creep across his face but you're pretty sure he couldn't scream now even if he wanted to, with how tight the stitches are. 

"It's okay," you tell him. It feels wrong coming from your lips; you're not his _meow_ rail, after all. 

He fumbles to mime that, yes, it is, and you smile.

"Do you want to move to the 'coon now?" 

He nods, grabbing your hand to lead you. You follow. You'd follow him anywhere.


	15. Latula<>Porrim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"Run the World" by Beyonce._   
>  _"Darkside" by Kelly Clarkson._   
>  _"Shake It Out" by Florence + The Machine._
> 
> **rating: T**   
>  **warnings: mentions of blood, mentions of mental health issues**

"C'mon, Merrygamz, loosen up!" Latula calls, stopping her board and turning back to look at you. 

You're beginning to regret agreeing to go skateboarding with her, but you know she welcomes the distraction of teaching you how to do this. It's been a trying week on many accounts.

You push off and manage to catch up to her slowly but surely. You're fairly sure that the dress you're wearing wasn't the best choice of attire for this but it's too late to go home and change now. Besides, the amount of time you'd have to waste breaking up another of your brothers' arguments alone makes it an uneviable prospect. Such is a typical day surrounded by men with conflicting opinions who each think they're entitled to being in the right. 

Latula's grown bored of waiting for you and is doing a series of elaborate flips both on the street and off of curbs. You have no idea how she's able to do all that in skinny jeans but somehow she manages it. She's full of energy, always is after she's gotten used to a change in meds, as if making up for the days spent adjusting. 

"Pornstar, hurry _up_ , yo. You're harshing the ride with all your stopping."

"I happen to be moving as fast as I can. And I'd appreciate it if you stopped using that nickname."

"Aw, come on. It's not that bad. You're starting to sound like Kankerz," she adds, laughing.

You want to argue that you are not, in fact, starting to sound like Kankri, and that it's not that you or anyone else should take offense to the word, but that you like that nickname even less than most of the ones Latula bestows upon you over the course of a day but you realize arguing that point into the ground will make you sound more like him, not less, so you put your foot to the ground and attempt to speed up. It backfires horribly and you end up falling forward, hands breaking your fall at the cost of the skin on your palms. 

"Oh, shit, you okay Porzor?"

"More or less." You pull yourself into a sitting position and survey the damage. Your palms are scraped but they aren't bleeding too badly. They sting a bit, but you know that's only temporary.

"Here, let me." Latula says, grabbing your hand gently with her own. "It doesn't look too bad, Po-Ma. Just gotta patch 'er up and you'll be good to go." She starts patting her pockets like she's looking for something.

"I've got bandaids in my purse," you say, though you both know full well it's at Latula's and if you need to go back there there won't be much point in heading back out for more ill-advised skateboarding adventures.

"Nah, it's chill. MT falls all the fucking time so I've usually got some bandaids on me somewhere." She takes off one of her shoes, reaches in, and whoops triumphantly, pulling out three fair-sized bandages. She unwraps one and places it across the worst of the scrape on your left hand, then does the same to your right. "See? Good as new. You're gonna have to remind me not to hit you up for any highfives till that's healed, though. If I get excited enough you know I'll forget."

You do, in fact, from experience, so you make a note to remind her of your injury at every opportunity.


	16. Gamzee<3Karkat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Lies by Marina and the Diamonds_   
>  _My Blood by Ellie Goulding_   
>  _Thistle and Weeds by Mumford and Sons_
> 
> **rating: T**   
>  **warnings: blood, injuries, Gamzee being really blasé toward the idea of death/dying**

You're all hurting all over by the time you get to your ex's hive. You can't raise your hands to knock trying to keep as much blood inside you as you can so you just kick at the door with your grimy boot till he opens it all scowly-faced and lets you in.

You're real glad he's to be allowing you inside 'cause otherwise you'd probably bleed the fuck out on his welcome mat and that ain't something you want to do. You still got your care on for Karkat even if that pale stuff didn't last anywhere near the forever what was implicit in serendipity. 

Karkat all but pulls you to the ablution block, near ripping your arm straight out of its socket with force. You leave a trail of purple blood behind the two of you like what someone could be finding you with if you were to be getting lost in the forest or something. 

"Okay, stop talking, dumbass," he tells you, and you realize you've been getting your mutter on about being lost or some shit this whole time. In some ways you guess maybe you are, though. But you're almost to be feeling found here with his warm hand around your cold wrist. 

You end up sat on the load gaper, leaning back against the wall behind it while Karkat uses his claws to tear your shirt away and wrap up the worst of your wounds, the one where the knife all tore up into your gut. 

"Does it register with you at all how lucky you are to be purple and not some other shitty colour?" he asks while he slaps on bandages in a way that shows how pale he isn't any longer. Nothing gentle about what he's doing here. "This is the kind of wound that kills other trolls, you pan-damaged clown."

You chuckle a bit at that. Ain't nothing you've found yet that could end you, trying or not.

"It's not funny. In fact, it's the opposite of funny." He pauses for a moment. "No, wait, I was wrong. This is hilarious. It's part of the huge cosmic joke that is Karkat Vantas' life. Break up with your moirail and gain a useless hatefriend who thinks near-fatal injuries are the best excuse for an unannounced visit."

"Man, I woulda called or some shit but my palmhusk up and broke."

Karkat's answer is something like a huff. He doesn't say anything else, just finishes what he's doing and stands to leave. 

"There," he says, turning for the door so fast it makes you feel all dizzy. "I'm going back to my respiteblock to finish the important stuff I was doing before you got here. Don't do anything stupid like fall in the gaper."

"Wait," you croak out before he can get all the way out of the block. "Can a brother maybe get some help moving somewhere that ain't so bright?" 

When you stand all wobbly he grabs on to you almost gentle. 

"You're a grubshitting mess," he mutters as he half-drags you out to the relaxation platform in the main block. "You should really look for a moirail, you know." His voice gets all serious there, like he's been putting thought to this for some time.

"But it ain't gonna be you?"

"Me?" Karkat snorts. "Not a chance in frozen-over clown hell."

That's what you sorta figured. You reach for him all the same. "You still got your pity on for me some, though," you tell him, running a hand all up his arm, all hard muscle under the black fabric what covers every inch of it. 

"I'm not doing it again. You've proven time and time again you won't listen to reason on even the most basic of subjects and I'm not—" You cover his mouth with your hand.

"Shh, bro. I ain't talking about pale. Got my sights on something else altogether."

"Mmmph," he says around your fingers.

"What's that?" 

"I said, you're delirious. We're not even friends anymore. Now go the fuck to sleep."

Might be some truth to what he's saying but he stays there to make sure you don't up and expire when you pass out all the same.


	17. Sollux<>Tavros

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Crash - Cavo_   
>  _The Boy With Two Hearts - The Boy Least Likely To_   
>  _I Believe I Can Fly - R Kelly_
> 
> **rating: T**   
>  **warnings: mentions of death**

"Oh my god," is the first thing you say when you wake up. You're alive, you're _flying_ (with wings! Actual wings like the fairies on the posters on your walls!), and your legs...

You kick out your legs. They're strong and muscular and they move and you can feel them moving—

"Oh my _god_!" you yell to yourself. You've been flying higher and higher and there's no one around to hear you, which is kind of disappointing but not unexpected. You were alone when that ogre snuck up behind you and hit you over the head while you were distracted. You're actually pretty sure you should be dead right now instead of alive and flying, but maybe that's what happens when you die? You can feel your legs, after all, and that's not supposed to be a thing that can happen ever. 

"TV!" someone yells. "Stop flying for a second. Let me fucking catch up."

You stop flying. You probably should not have stopped moving your wings, though, because you immediately start falling. 

You're almost resigned to hitting the ground again and probably hurting yourself really badly (again) when something catches you. Psionics. It's Sollux.

"How do you not realize you can start flying again at literally any point? It's not even that hard to do, just flap your wings. You don't even need to use up any mental energy like I do."

"Oh. I... Uh, I guess I forgot, for a second, that I could fly? Because I'm used to falling and, um, not being able to fly?"

"Oh. Shit. Wow, way to fucking bring up that horrible experience, Sollux. You're just a shining beacon of good memories tonight."

"Okay, so you really don't have to beat yourself up about that, considering you weren't actually involved, at all, and were actually pretty helpful, after..." You decide not to mention Aradia now, because that would just make him upset again, and you don't want to make him upset. You do kind of wish Aradia was still alive and not currently a robot who doesn't really care about your feelings or Sollux's feelings because you think she'd be better at this than you are. 

Sollux makes this weird face that means he figured out where you were going with that anyway. "If I let you go can you flap your wings and not plummet to your death again?"

"I think so..."

He lets you go and you flap your wings, really fast at first, then slower when you realize you don't have to do that to keep yourself up in the air. 

"Um," you say after awhile. "So when you said not to fall to my death again..."

"I'm pretty sure it wouldn't kill you permanently but I really don't want to see it."

"Permanently?"

"Well, yeah. You're god tier now. Wait, you mean you didn't realize?"

"No? I mean, I didn't know that god tier was a thing, I could be."

"What do you actually think is happening right now?"

"I'm not really sure. I though I was dead. Are you dead too?"

"TV, we're not dead. I saw you get killed and I thought maybe instead of just bringing you back to life I could throw you on your quest cocoon."

"Why? I mean, I'm really grateful, that you brought me back to life, but why wouldn't you just kiss me?"

"Because you died literally two minutes from it. And I guess I thought maybe you'd like to come back with wings, since I know you didn't like it when I used my psionics to float you around."

"Well, yeah, because I couldn't move, like, at all, when that happened, and that was really unsettling, given that I already can't move my legs. Couldn't. I can now." You bring your legs up to your chest and end up doing a backflip in the air. You kind of want to do one again, but Sollux will probably get tired of you fast if you keep doing it. "And I had that hoverchair, that Vriska made, that was really nice to fly around in."

"Is she still here?" Sollux scans the ground below you, even though most everything down there looks like little dots instead of imps or ogres and even if Vriska was here she wouldn't be able to see the two of you up that high. 

"No, she, uh. That is, I... There was an incident, with..."

"What?"

"I might have, possibly, let her die, on her cocoon, after Aradia almost killed her."

"Oh my god," Sollux mutters, burying his face in his hands. You flap your wings a bit harder and fly up close enough to him to pat him on the shoulder.

"Um. It's okay, really. I mean, it wasn't, for awhile. I kind of spent all my time sleeping because it was really distressing, to think of what happened, but then I woke up and got killed and you brought me back to life with wings and now I think maybe everything's okay."


	18. Gamzee<>Lil' Cal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Monsters - Matchbook Romance_   
>  _Trick and Treat - Kagamine Rin and Len_   
>  _Herrscher - Yousei Teikoku_
> 
> **rating: T**   
>  **warnings: religion, mentions of past drug use**

No one else on this rock can get their understanding on of why you're so smitten on your puppet friend. They can't hear his words, saying things low like he does, giving speeches what only your hearducts can pick up on, telling you all these miraculous truths what no one else would dare to put forth to your auricles. 

Sometimes you get angry. Sometimes you wanna break things more than you've already broken them and he says that's good, says there'll be all kinds of time for breaking in the future as long as you're ready. Karkat tells you not to, asks _why in nooksucking hell would you want to do that don't make me shooshpap you into more of a drooling imbecile than you already are_ , and that's when you get stuck. Which of your best friends are you supposed to believe here?

Most nights you're to be going with the best friend that's spending all of his time with you, the one that never leaves your side.

There ain't much room in the ducts, and it gets lonely waiting for what's to come. It's not time yet, Cal says. He'll be telling you when it's time, telling you what to do. So you wait and wait and wait and try to sit still even when your legs are feeling all restless and you want nothing more than to get out and get started on fulfilling all these wicked prophecies what are going to spell out the truth of your believings to everyone doubting them. You're gonna get your meet on for your Lord, Cal told you. The one greater than the Messiahs you had your prayers all going to during all those sweeps misinformed.

The excitement of that swirls around your pan until you hear him speak.

SILENCE, CLOWN, is what he says, all loud for once, and you clench your mouth together, bite your lip even though you had no intentions of speaking. You're pretty sure he can get his see on for what's in your head, hear what thoughts get themselves bouncing around. 

Before, when you used to be ingesting all that poison what was rotting you from the inside out your thoughts would melt away as soon as they were making themselves known but now it's like there's nowhere for them to go so they keep dancing around in there, slipping through the holes in your pan to other parts of it what you didn't even know were there. 

Sometimes it makes you get tripping over what words you choose to be croaking out to your other best friend and he gets this look on that makes you feel all like maybe you should've said something else to make what time he can spare for you less unhappy. You don't get that look from Cal. He's always got this smile for you that makes you feel all good and at peace and chill in a way that don't come so easy anymore.

When you tire of waiting and ease yourself down to get some sleep on (far away from the grates so no one can find you when you're not ready for it) he curls right up next to you, not too big you can't share what little space you have even as it gets smaller and harder to move around in as nights go by.


	19. Gamzee<3Tavros

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Grass - Animal Collective_  
>  _So Begins Our Alabee - Of Montreal_  
>  _The Last Page - Emily Haines & the Soft Skeleton_
> 
> **rating: T**   
>  **warnings: drug use & addiction, vague mention of sexual content**

When you open your eyes your head's on someone's lap. 

You look up and into the face of the prettiest guy you've ever seen.

"Shit, Tav, you're like a fucking miracle," you whisper. Words are hard to get out, and the noise reverberates through your skull.

"Wow, thanks. I'm not really sure, I should be taking anything you say right now at face value, but I appreciate the sentiment all the same."

You reach up to his face and get your fingers all on those soft lips of his and into his mouth. His spit feels warm over your cold fingers (you don't got your knowledge on of _why_ they're cold but some things you guess aren't meant to be known).

"Umm," he says after awhile, all garbled around your fingers, and then, "Uh," all clearer 'cause suddenly your hands up and put themselves back on your chest. "I kind of have to go shower, now, so I can get ready for work, so I'm gonna go, but I'll come back and say goodbye, okay?"

You fucking hate goodbyes. They harsh your chill so much. But he slides himself out from under you and heads off to get all clean.

You're pretty sure you fall asleep because when you wake up the light's all hitting the walls different and the shower's stopped and he's gone. 

You've gotta piss so you roll yourself off the mattress and stumble your way out to the bathroom. When you're done you think about popping a few more pills till you remember how much Tav don't like that you're high all the time and maybe he had some strong words about it once. A few days ago, you think. Time's a blur. 

When he gets home you're nursing a headache, curled up back on that mattress he left you on.

"Did you, um..." he starts up. "Did you get up at all?"

"Yeah, 'm just. 'S too fuckin' bright out there."

"Is it your head, again?"

"Mm."

Tavros gets to climbing on the bed and snuggling up to your back.

"Can I...?" he asks all hesitant before putting his hands up on your forehead and massaging your skin all gentle. It helps some, because you get your breathing all calmed and then fall the fuck back to sleep.

You wake up with his arms wrapped around you, and have to get yourself all slid out of his grip. Your headache's ebbed to a light pulse you've barely got any feel on for and you think you're probably alright to get back to living.

When you get to the kitchen you think about pills and then think about Tav getting his disappoint on and decide you'll make eggs instead. You crack them thinking of those commercials where the smashed egg is your brain on drugs. Sure as fuck feels that way sometimes.

Eggs are almost ready when Tav stumbles out, rubbing his eyes.

"It's nine pm," he tells you, but he don't sound upset. Proud, maybe, kinda. Your dad sounded like that once, at some big function you and Kurloz got dragged to, talking about his sons like he was ever around to see what there was to get his pride on about. Tav sounds more sincere.

"These are good, Gamzee," he says, even though they're nothing but scrambled eggs with ketchup. "Maybe you could start making dinner every night. If you're feeling up to it, I mean. If you don't, that's fine, I can feed myself."

You remember you used to cook all kinds of stuff for Tavros and your own self both before you got all courted by the pills again. Maybe you should start up on baking.

"Yeah, shit, sure I could do that for a motherfucker. Ain't like I got much else to be doing now." You lose too much time to pills and sleep to work lately, even though Equius got his promise on of some job at his shop if you can get yourself together long enough to do it. His requests don't work none on keeping you from wanting pills but you got your appreciate on for them all the same.

Tavros smiles, then, and your heart gets all fluttery in the best of ways.

That night shit gets intense in even better ways.

It takes you two days but you finally get yourself to be making some pasta with tomato sauce you all did up fresh from scratch. Tav looks all surprised coming home to a table all set with checkered tablecloth like this is some fancy-ass restaurant and that makes all the work feel worth it.


	20. Kankric3<Porrimc3<Kurloz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _The Game of Life_
> 
> **rating: T**   
> **warnings: religion**

Playing Troll Life with Kankri and Kurloz probably isn't the worst idea you've ever had but it's certainly up there.

It starts out fine aside from Kankri's complaint that I find it s9mewhat 9ffensive that there aren't any pieces that pr9perly reflect my status as a mutant 6lood, 9r that 9f th9se wh9 w9uld rather remain hem9n9ny9us, something easily fixed by grabbing one of the brown pieces, sticking some masking tape over the top, and handing him a red marker to colour it in. 

Moving along through schoolfeeding and into adulthood there aren't any issues but adulthood is proving to be just as difficult as you've heard. Kurloz spins the wheel and lands on the Cull Two Adolescent Trolls One Caste Lower Than Your Own space, grabbing two blue pieces and sticking them in the back of his motorized transportation vehicle behind his violet kismesis. Kankri, unable to hold his tongue any longer, begins to speak.

"I'm beginning to notice your vehicle is skewed to the cooler castes, Kurloz," he begins, tone even. You can sense the lecture coming.

"Kanny..." you warn, hoping to cut him off before he says something stupid. He ignores you.

"It said 'one caste lower'," Kurloz reminds him, pushing his vehicle off of the space so he can point out the exact phrasing on it.

"Yes, and while that is the case, some of your other decisions have made it clear you aren't looking to be inclusive of all members of the hemospectrum"

"Because I picked a violet kismesis? I grabbed the first mother fucking piece I saw."

"Well, perhaps you should have put a bit of thought into it, though I suppose with your privilege you didn't even realize the ramifications of choosing to fill your fictional quadrants without thinking."

"Privilege?" Kurloz barks. "My _best friend_ is _yellow_ ; I've got no fucking problem with lower castes. And what've you got there? Green and jade for ash?"

"See, that is a really unfortunate choice of words, Kurloz. They aren't any lower than you are. My plan is to fill my other quadrants with colours from all places on the spectrum."

"Like you even know what _my_ plans are. I don't have to listen to these fallacies you're spitting—"

" _Boys_ ," you interject. "Stop." 

To their credit, they do. You spin, landing on Contribute to the Slurry. A quick glare in Kankri's direction stops him from making a comment about the fact that you currently have no quadrants filled, just two cullees (one umber, one ochre).

Kankri spins and lands on the Change Vocation space. He draws a card, looks at it, and gasps. 

"What?" you ask.

He turns it around to show you both. Mirthful Priest. You're beginning to consider this as a definite contender for Worst Idea Ever.

"Blasphemy. This is blasphemy," Kurloz growls. "Letting a heathen like you even _pretend_ to be someone so holy—"

"I apologize if this has offended you in some way, Kurloz." That's Kanny for you, never knowing when to keep his mouth shut. "As we've discussed, this is just a game and while I know your... beliefs are important to you it isn't so far-fetched to believe that they would be important to my avatar here as well." He holds up his vehicle to show Kurloz, who doesn't even bother to look at it, still focused on arguing above Kankri.

"—that you would even _think_ to defile the righteous name of the Church with this _game_ , this falsehood, this disgusting perversion of divine truths—"

"—I think it would be advisable for you to calm down. Perhaps you should give your moirail a call. Do you have one? I know you and Meulin are close; is that heading pale? If not she would probably have a good idea of who could be a potential match for you, as she has let me in on her thoughts for myself many times, despite my continued requests for her to stop as I am—"

"What I do with my Kittybitch is _none of your **mother fucking business**_!" Kurloz shrieks, slamming his hands down on the board. The pieces go flying. If the game wasn't over already it is now. 

A hush falls over the room. Now is your chance. 

"Both of you shut up. Especially you, Kankri; you're just making it worse. And Kurloz, he didn't know that card was in there and he didn't choose it just to offend you, so now he's going to put it aside and we'll start again after both of you calm down. Do I make myself clear?"

They nod. There's something to be said for a strong female prescence. 

It dawns on you that while you may have gotten halfway through Life with no relationships you've managed to work your way into the beginnings of an ashen one outside of the confines of the game.


	21. Kurloz<>Mituna

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Pictionary_
> 
> **rating; T**   
> **warnings: mental health issues, brain injury issues**

The games area is so fucking lame. It's all bullshit board games for children, like just because your brains are all fucked up you would want to sit around playing Scrabble or whatever. Almost no one even wants to play with you anymore, though, not since that time you told Jenny where she could stick all those checkers after she beat you. You're pretty sure Kurloz is the only one here who was amused and that's why he's the only one who bothers playing with you now.

It's his idea, usually, because you hate Pictionary, but you're not gonna tell him to fuck off if he brings you the box. 

All the aides think it's great you two do this because it's helping you with your fine motor skills (which is hilarious because you were just as shitty at drawing before your accident) and apparently it's some big fucking deal for Kurloz to even want to acknowledge you. You don't know why; you're fucking awesome at least half the time.

So you spend awhile drawing shitty porcupines and people in love and whatever else on your whiteboard and Kurloz writes the answers on his. You don't really give a shit that he doesn't talk, not like everyone else does, because at least he isn't trying to correct you every two seconds. 

His drawings are way better than yours. You get good at guessing quick. You're not stupid. He's not stupid either, even though you both get people talking to you extra-loud and extra-slow. 

Kurloz lands on an Action square and grabs a card. He frowns at it. This is really the only thing that makes him get more expressive than just smiling or blankly staring at people so no wonder the aides all jizz over his participation. 

He hesitates before putting the pen to his board, then just starts scribbling, like a shitty black cloud made by a 5-year-old or something. Worse than anything you could ever do. He looks really fucking intense, too. The board ends up mostly covered in scribbles.

"Cloud?" you ask, even though you have no fucking idea. "Fuck, that's not an action. Murder? Fireworks? Dǎpào? Ahahaha." Kurloz doesn't even look at you while you're guessing. Usually he'll smile or something when you get it, and kind of gesture how close you are to figuring it out if you don't but now he's just staring down the board like it's telling him something. You hope he's not gonna have a tantrum like half the people here do sometimes (yourself included). 

"I don't fucking know, okay? This is stupid." You might hit the table with your hand a little harder than you should because one of the aides looks over like she's thinking about coming over. "Shit," you mutter under your breath.

Kurloz abruptly stands up and makes some weird gestures at you with his hands. When you don't do anything he almost looks annoyed, like it's your fault you don't understand him. 

He grabs the board and writes COME ON in all caps like it's important. You stand up too fast and get dizzy and almost fall and he grabs your arm to steady you. He leaves it there when you start walking, just until he's sure you won't fall. It's nice because he doesn't keep holding you up like you can't walk or something and he doesn't pull you along like he needs you to go faster.

He leads you to a space along the wall where no one is and sits down. You sit down beside him, almost perfect except for the part where you hit your head on the wall. But it isn't very hard and that's what your helmet is for anyway so whatever. 

Kurloz brought the board with him and he hunches over it now. YOU DON'T KNOW SIGN, he writes.

You start laughing. "I can't even tie my shoes, how the fuck would I know sign?" That's sort of a lie; you can tie your shoes if you concentrate, but it takes forever and usually you just get frustrated and end up throwing one of them across the room and get in trouble and feel bad about it. "And don't say it's easy." Everyone says things are easy and they're fucking not. "It wouldn't be easy for you to just learn to speak Russian or something—" 

As soon as you say 'speak' Kurloz makes this weird face and you remember that he doesn't speak or make noise or anything and you feel awful. 

"Sorry," you tell him. "I'm sorry." Maybe he's disappointed you don't sign because how can you even be friends if you can't understand him?

He shakes his head.

IT'S OKAY, he writes. YOU'RE RIGHT; IT'S NOT EASY TO LEARN SIGN. BUT I DON'T THINK YOU'RE INCAPAPABLE OF LEARNING THE BASICS.

"Really?" You're skeptical. You can barely do half the shit you used to before the accident and you've never even watched anyone sign before Kurloz. 

He nods and shuffles so he's sitting in front of you, grabbing your right hand and holding it against the side of your face, palm out toward him, then pulling it forward. Then he lets go of your hand and lets you try a few times. It's not that hard, kind of like pushing out for a highfive if you ever wanted to do that starting with your hand up against your face like some weirdo. 

"What does that mean?"

HELLO, he writes. 

"Boring. Teach me something cool."

He kind of waves his pointer finger next to his eye for a second, then grins and reaches out for your hands again, holding your hand palm out, then putting your index finger to your thumb. After leaving it like that for a second he pushes down your pinkie and ring fingers, covers them with your thumb, and points your middle finger toward him while leaving your pointer finger up. 

That's way too many fucking steps and you screw it up a few times before he decides to just demonstrate for you. He does it slow, then faster, then does the first handshape and writes 'F' on the board. He follows that with the second, then writes 'K' next to the 'F'. After checking to make sure no one's watching he flips you off, then does the FK thing with his hands, alternating between the two for awhile until you get it. After a lot of practice it gets easier but you still get it backwards half the time, or forget to put your fingers in the right place and it sucks and you suck and you wanna scream or something because anyone else could figure this out and you could've done this _so easily_ before—

Kurloz grabs your hands with one of his own, then scrawls on the whiteboard with the other THAT'S ENOUGH. He's ambidextrous, go figure.

YOU CAN TRY IT AGAIN NEXT TIME, he adds, smiling.

"Fine." Then you remember it was him who was upset about something before you came over here and since he didn't flip the fuck out maybe it would be okay to ask. "What were you trying to draw earlier? That shitty scribble-thing."

He exhales noisily. It's the most noise you can remember him making ever. He makes an angry face, holding his hands in front of himself with fingers bent like claws.

"What the fuck?"

RAGE, he writes. You don't get why that would bother him but whatever.

"Well, maybe next time we should play charades or something. You'd probably be able to beat all these losers at charades. Besides, Pictionary sucks ass."

Kurloz smiles and nods which you're pretty sure means he thinks it sucks ass too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dǎpào (打炮) is Mandarin for ejaculate, but literally means 'to let off fireworks'. It took me an embarrassingly long time to find a dirty word in any language that would kind of match what Kurloz was drawing. In ASL, fingerspelling the letters F and K means 'fuck'. And that angry thing Kurloz does near the end is actually the sign for rage.
> 
> Hopefully everything looks correct to you if you are familiar with either language. I am not really, but I spent way too much time researching so hopefully it paid off.


	22. Gamzee<3<Sollux

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _King of Tokyo_
> 
> **rating: T**   
> 

There are too many fucking pieces in this game. It gets your head hurting to see all them little bits sitting on the table.

"GZ it's your roll."

"Man, really? How can you even get knowing that?"

Sollux sighs all exasperated-like. "Because there's only two of us and I just went."

"Shit, if you say so, Solbro."

You throw down the dice. Five threes and a heart. Sollux curses under his breath.

"Sorry, bro," you say, 'cause you figure you should feel bad. You don't really but probably you would if it was anyone else.

Sollux just kind of makes a spitty hissing sound through his teeth. Motherfucker has too many teeth. How does he even exist having that many teeth? You don't even have half as many and sometimes they feel like too much.

"Are you ever going to take Tokyo? Or are we stuck like this until you magically earn enough points to win?"

"What the motherfuck's a Tokyo?"

"Please tell me you're just fucking with me. There's no way you're that stupid."

"Nah, I ain't fucked with no one. Pretty sure you'd get your knowing on if I did."

"Okay, now I get why KK hates you so much. I guess I knew going into it. I'm not sure why I was desperate enough to play this with you. I could've just gone upstairs and played with my dad or something; he'd probably remember the rules for longer—"

You're pretty sure Sollux keeps on talking but you kind of zone out with your fingers all up on your playing piece. It's some wicked monster called a Cyber Bunny with big front teeth and pink all over except for his yellow hat what reminds you of Sollux, 'cause even if he's got all that red and blue sparking around him he's all yellow inside. 

He gets all cute with his face all mustard and angry, but a different kind of cute than when Karkat gets all salty with you or when Tavros gets all flustered and his face flushes brown.

You think you wouldn't be opposed to some makeouts if he was feeling it too. 

You hear a distant 'clack' as the dice get their roll on. Sollux can do it with his powers so he doesn't even need to touch anything. 

"Two damage," you hear him say as he up and floats your card right away from you and adjusts the dial. Man, it's like you don't even need to be playing this game. 

"It's like I don't even need you here, GZ. I could play this myself."

"Heh, yeah, that's probably something you could get to be doing, brother."

"Why do I even bother?" He sweeps everything up and away and dumps it in a corner. 

It kinda sucks the game's ended so fast but you forget pretty quick, all caught up in watching Sollux storming off to his huskstation.


	23. Jade<3Latula

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _It From The Pit_
> 
> **rating: G**   
> 

"Come on, slowpokes!" Jade calls from farther up the path. "Come on, come on, come on!"

You're running as fast as you can, and mini-Kankri's right behind you, panting hard. The other guy, tiny Rufioh, is a bit slower, metal legs clomping along from farther back. 

Claws scrape the path just ahead of you, taking rocks and debris down into the slime-filled pit. You stop. Kankz Junior almost runs into you and Rufioh the Second runs into _him_ and you all just sort of stand there in a huddle. 

"Do you think it's safe to go, now?" Ruf 2.0 asks. Tavros, that's his name.

"I don't know. Unlike some of us, I can't read the minds of giant terrifying horrorbeasts to figure out what they're going to do next." Karkat's been extra-ornery lately. Jade says this is what he's usually like, sticking out her tongue any time he overhears her and gets scowly about it. 

"Well, you know, I can't actually do that, either. There's something weird about this beast, I mean, other than the fact that he's so big, and scary, and kind of impossible. I can't see into his mind at all."

You can't either. And between the two of you knights you haven't yet been able to find the chest containing the frog like you were both fated to. It's really harshing this whole journey. 

But there's not much you can do but keep on walking.

*

The next time the hand smacks the ground near you you can tell it's gonna hit Jade. So you vault over it, fingers brushing the scaly skin of its wrist as you bring your legs up like you're doing a radical trick. It almost feels like your mom and you're reminded of how much you miss her. That happens sometimes, even after all these sweeps without her. 

You crash against Jade, pushing her away from those sharp claws. She has delicate skin and you don't want her to get hurt. That would be a major bummer.

"Thanks," Jade breathes, grinning up at you.

"Okay, that was immensely stupid. Are you trying to get yourself killed again? I mean, why would you even attempt to save someone who's effectively immortal?" Crabby's pretty pissed, glowering at you as he stomps over.

Oh. Right. Jade won't die unless it's heroic or just, and getting crushed by a monster hand is neither.

"Whoops," you say, trying to play it cool.

"Whoops?" he asks. " _Whoops_? It's okay you almost got yourself killed even though there's _no grubfucking guarantee_ we can even do this with just the four of us because it was an honest mistake, right?"

"Karkat," Tavrighteous says, clomping over, "shut up."

"Yeah, Karkat," Jade adds, standing up to wrap an arm over your shoulders. "She didn't get killed so it's fine."

Kittykat sputters for a few moments before giving up and starting to trudge along. The rest of you follow. Jade keeps her arm around your waist even though the path's barely wide enough for the both of you. It's a good  
excuse to lean closer, though.

*

When you finally get to the treasure Jade whoops in elation, grabbing you and kissing you full on the lips. You run your hands through her hair and scratch behind her ears and she kisses you harder.

"Get a block you two," Kar-Kar says as he grabs the chest and pulls it open. A frog hops out right at him and he falls back with a squawk.

Bullhorns laughs in a kind of mean way and uses his wicked mind powers to keep the frog from running off into the swamp.

And there it is. You've completed your quest, got the frog, got the girl... This is better than mastering a gnarly kickflip, and that's one of the greatest feelings there is.


	24. Kurloz<>Mituna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Taboo_
> 
> **rating: T**   
>  **warnings: mention of canon self-harm**   
>  **there's some pretty prevalent Gam <>Kar in this chapter too**

The thing about saying agreeing to this was a bad idea, Karkat muses, is that he never actually agreed. Kankri had decided abruptly that they were going to do some ancestor-descendant bonding while catching up with a few of his friends and no matter how vehemently he refused he hadn't been able to leave.

'Friends', really. Karkat's not quite sure these two even _like_ Kankri. He's not sure there are many who like Kankri. He's not sure why they're sitting around playing Troll Taboo when one of these 'friends' doesn't even speak.

It's blindingly obvious to Karkat that Kurloz isn't even _trying_ with this game. He's not sure how anyone's supposed to get answers out of him, let alone Sollux's pancracked ancestor. And yet the two of them are winning while he and Kankri fall further and further behind.

"He has to be cheating," Karkat hisses at Kankri, watching as yet again Kurloz just smiles at Mituna and Mituna correctly guesses that the word is 'ablution trap'. "There's no way anyone could figure out the answer from just that."

"Don't be insensitive, Karkat," Kankri says with that practiced, even tone Karkat is beginning to loathe, "Kurloz is doing remarkably well at this despite his disability. I'm sure he would be upset if he heard what you were saying about him."

Karkat's pretty sure this guy doesn't do upset. And he's not even disabled. Sewing your own mouth shut and refusing to talk is not a disability. 

"I mean," Kankri adds, "Are you sure you're not just projecting you feelings for your moirail onto him. I've noticed he's not around much; is it bothering you to be in the presence of another pale couple?"

"Of course it's not bothering me. Why would it bother me? I am completely unbothered." This isn't about Gamzee, mainly because he's never around. Although it is unsettling how much Kurloz looks like him. Mituna doesn't look like Sollux, though that could be the helmet, and there's no way Karkat looks anything like Kankri, but looking at Kurloz he can tell exactly what Gamzee will look like in a few sweeps.

"What are you shitheads whispering about?" Mituna asks accusingly.

"Oh, Karkat just wanted to make sure Kurloz was entirely comfortable with this game. I realize how with his history a game comprised of speaking and forbidden things _could_ be triggering, but I had left it to his discretion, knowing that as his moirail you would speak up if the game needed to stop temporarily so the two of you could go off in private."

"Don't be a wet bulge; he's fine," Mituna snaps.

"Now, Mituna, I know sometimes you have trouble realizing just how offensive you are, but that kind of language is definitely uncalled for in response to Karkat's innocent query."

"Maybe you should ask Kurloz if he's fine, then. Tell them." He looks over at his moirail and Kurloz nods, wrapping an arm around Mituna's shoulders and fixing Karkat and Kankri with a smile that Karkat is honestly kind of freaked out by. 

They continue to be disgustingly pale throughout the entirety of the pointless game, and Karkat isn't sure if it bothers him so much because of how much Kurloz looks like Gamzee or how much he misses him.

Not that he actually misses him. Why would he miss him? There's nothing to miss. Gamzee doesn't know the first thing about proper pale romance and Karkat is in no way worried about his well-being.


	25. Tavros<>Aradia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of [this fill](http://hs-worldcup.dreamwidth.org/3493.html?thread=1184677#cmt1184677).
> 
> **rating: T**   
> **warnings: mentions of canon death**

Trolls don't often come back to the spot where their quadrants died, but everyone says you aren't like normal trolls, so you guess it figures. 

It's a long way to where Aradia's hive used to be, even going by miniture hoofbeast, so you have to pack like you're going to be gone all night. Usually you are. It's a painful trip, as in actual physical pain, because your back doesn't really like it when you sit up straight for a long time without anything to lean against. You think that's from the injury, from getting jumped off that cliff, but there isn't anything you could read or anyone you could ask for an answer on why that is or what you could do to make it better, so you just try to ignore it.

It's also a slower trip than maybe it could be if you weren't so worried about losing your balance and falling, which is a thing that happens occasionally too. It's really not fun when you fall, because getting back up is kind of hard, and while you're off the hoofbeast you're vulnerable to any trolls that might be in the area (luckily there aren't many trolls in the area; you and Aradia both live — _lived_ — pretty rural). 

The spot you left her is exactly the same as it always is, just a hole half-filled with dirt off to the side of her hive. 

Or, well, it was half-filled with dirt, the last time you were here, but now it's completely filled. You probe the minds of any beasts in the area, but all they can tell you is that someone was here.

You probe further, trying to figure out who would want to visit this area, what kind of danger you might be in. The beasts can't get things across too clearly but _scrawny, lightning-hands, fly-away_ gives you enough of a picture to realize it was Sollux. 

You pull out your palmhusk.

AT: sOLLUX,  
AT: i KNOW YOU WERE HERE, aT ARADIA'S,  
AT: tHANK YOU FOR FILLING IN THE HOLE,

He doesn't answer. He doesn't really like to talk about Aradia, which makes sense, because he was here when she died, and it probably brings up bad memories for him, just like talking about what happened with the cliff and Vriska brings up bad memories for you. 

Scrolling through your chumproll you notice something weird. Aradia's online, even though she can't be because she's dead. You don't really want to troll whoever's using her account because they're probably dangerous. Even a lowblood like you didn't need to steal a husktop to get one. But you think Rufio would confront whoever it was and tell them to stop using her account so you close your eyes and tap her name to open a chatpanel. 

AT: hELLO,  
AT: bECAUSE IT BELONGS TO MY FRIEND,  
AT: *bELONGED,

They don't respond. You decide to believe they were scared off by your bravado. When your Trollian pings you later with a new message you want to believe what it's telling you, but you don't think that will make it any less fake. 

AA: hi tavr0s  
AA: its aradia


	26. Jane<3Gamzee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fill based on a pic of Gamzee comforting Jane drawn by dw user ciamnx to fill the prompt _"Stop being frightened. You only see a monster because they want you to see monsters everywhere. They've conditioned you to look for monsters in every shadow, every coat hung on every door." -Grant Morrison (from vol. 2 Doom Patrol #50)_. It looks like the picture's been taken down, though :o(
> 
> **rating: T**   
> **warnings: trolls being treated as subhuman, mentions of violence, blood**

Most days Jane thinks she's over her head. 

It started as a bit of fun, a good old-fashioned mystery to solve. One straight out of her father's childhood. She baked a pie and left it on the windowsill to cool and when she came back an hour or so later it was gone.

Not one to let an excuse to go sleuthing slip through her fingers, Jane pulled a quick disguise from her closet (fedora, trenchcoat, handlebar moustache) and set to work looking for the culprit. 

Her first clue it wasn't just an animal was the purple paint. The second was the lack of mess aside from that. She followed the trail, though in retrospect she probably shouldn't have. She probably should have made the connection a lot quicker. 

She found him behind the shed, bloody-faced and licking apple-cinnamon filling from his fingers. 

"That's some good motherfuckin' pie you were getting your bake on to, sis," he said, smiling in a way that was both friendly and slightly unsettling. 

Jane wasn't quite sure how to respond. There was a troll in her backyard. A troll, here. In this town. In the human half of the state. 

There was a troll bleeding and eating her pie and speaking half-decent English (weren't they supposed to only produce guttural noises and strange clicks?) _in her backyard_.

This was definitely something she needed to investigate further.

*

Gamzee is strange for a troll, whether Jane goes by the dictionary definition ( _a monsterous species with often murderous intent and no capacity for human language_ ) or what she's seen of how trolls actually act. Most of them are guarded, wary of her for what is probably good reason. They can be violent but mostly they are civil toward one another. 

It's strange spending time around them, she finds. Especially when other humans are around. The way people react to something they've created is startling, though she supposes it's partially due to the fact that they're told almost from birth that trolls are dangerous. Gamzee doesn't do much to dispel that in looks, with the purplish scars that cross his face once his wounds heal. He's cagey about what happened to cause them, but she's sure she'll get to the bottom of that eventually as well. 

*

The closer she gets to trolls, the farther she seems to get from her fellow humans. She's been shot at by people trying to rescue her from Gamzee, despite her protests that she didn't need rescuing. 

"Sometimes I think people will never listen, no matter how much I expose," she tells him one night.

He shrugs. "You're probably in the right about that, sis. Doesn't really matter, though."

"Of course it matters! Equal treatment for trolls is important."

"You're important too, sis. If this shit's gonna get you killed I'm not really chill with doing it." 

Jane looks over at him, at the way his too-long teeth worry his lip, and she thinks maybe the mistake she made wasn't getting involved with trolls but getting involved with _this_ troll. There's so much work left to do before people recognize them as more than feral animals, let alone as potential partners, but she supposes someone's got to take the first step.

They're both scared, she can see that now. But they'll have to press on.


	27. Kurloz<3<Aranea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Mind control 2x combo_
> 
> **rating: T**   
>  **warnings: mind control**

Her existence is hilarious to you. She went to all that trouble, wasted all that time, and for what? All she has done is ensured her death twice over. All she has achieved by controlling your bard is a minor distraction from your righteous and holy cause. You would be angrier if you were not so practiced at stamping it down. It is a waste of what little time you have left to become emotional about something so pointless.

She dislikes you immensely, that much is certain. It amuses you that she would expend precious mental energy in such a way when she has so many other tasks to focus on.

You suppose you would be awed by her ability if she were not a faithless blasphemer attempting to erase your Lord from existence.

Your loyal bard followers her like a lost barkbeast. You see no reason to keep him silent as she does when he preaches so many motherfucking truths and has seen so many things that would be worthy of her notice. He alone among you has met your Lord in the flesh. She would be wise to listen to him, but she is not as wise as she believes herself to be.

*

You come to her when she sleeps, for being mortal the need for rest is her greatest weakness. When her eyes shut she falls prey to the dreambubbles you inhabit. 

You sneak up on her and use your 'voodoos to put her under your control. She looks back at you, eyes flashing that familiar purple.

You cannot control someone's will fully, only enhance their underlying desires in ways that are beneficial to you. Meulin wanted to connect with you, hung on every word out of your flapping lips before you swore silence. Mituna wanted to understand, to help with things that never needed his assistance. 

You reach into her mind. What she desires is knowledge. Success. The former is something you can provide.

"We should follow the One True Messiah?" she asks with some confusion once she's fully under. You encourage your puppets to vocalize their feelings. You want them to address you when you impart knowledge on them. To share in holy conversation you've always had trouble getting to flow organically. With a little push you can get almost anyone to take your beliefs as seriously as they should be taken.

YES, SYLPH, you tell her. HE WILL LEAD US INTO DOUBLE DEATH AND THE TRUEST OF AWAKENINGS.

"I see. I would like to know more." She thirsts for understanding, and you are just the one to sate her. 

You begin to quote your favorite passages of scripture until you notice the yellow of her ganderbulbs peeking through. She is shaking off your control, like any formidable opponent should be able to.

"Makara," she says, watching you with some suspicion. She has no idea what you have done, thinks you just as innocent as the others do. "Would you mind telling me what you're doing here?"

You would laugh if it wouldn't break the vow you've upheld for sweeps upon sweeps. She will get no explanation from you. You drag your fingers across your lips as if sealing them shut and smile. 

Her eyes narrow. She is unimpressed. 

Suddenly you feel the urge to tell her what you know. You're close to saying something, but your jaw aches when you attempt to part your lips. You feel the strain of the threads and idly wonder whether now is the time to remove them.

Just as suddenly the urge leaves you and you stand in disgust at the betrayal of your mind.

"Don't you see how easy it would be for me to force you to speak?" Aranea asks with a smile. "You're lucky I've always detested the sound of your voice or I might just see what would come out of your speechtrap after all these sweeps in silence. Now, I'm sure you have some innocuous activities to get back to so I suggest you be on your way. Oh, and I'd advise you to stay away from me in the future. You wouldn't stand a chance if you decided to oppose me."

You heed her warning and stay hidden when you watch her during her future trips back to the bubbles, knowing that she cannot sense you nearby. She is predictable in a way she thinks she is not. You know exactly what her downfall will be. 

The reveal that your Lord is the one she is chasing will come as a surprise to her. You cannot wait for her reaction.


	28. Kurloz<3Meulin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Dangan Ronpa AU  
>  The second trial has rolled around, and Kurloz is the culprit. Meulin has found out and doesn't want to see him die. But the trials can only turn out one way. What Meulin chooses to do afterwards is up to you._
> 
> **rating: T**   
> **warnings: death. mentions of drowning/strangulation/asphyxiation. violence. sadstuck. vague spoilers for Dangan Ronpa**   
> **there's also quite a bit of Kur <>Tuna in this too**

You know it's him. You wouldn't if you hadn't seen the waterlogged gloves he threw in the wash, stinking of chlorine in a way they wouldn't if he'd gotten them wet any other way, but you had. He smiled when he saw you walk into the laundry room, put a finger to his lips like this was just your little secret. 

Two hours later three of your classmates found Cronus Ampora, Super Highschool Level Greaser, at the bottom of the pool. You felt sick looking at his body, especially knowing it was Kurloz, feigning shock alongside the rest of your friends, who had done it. 

You didn't participate much in the investigation, just answered the few questions Jane posed to you about the nature of Cronus' relationships with others. As the Super Highschool Level Matchmaker you knew she'd come to you about that, but as he wasn't well-liked you could truthfully tell her it could have been anyone. And it really could have been. It just wasn't.

*

You don't know what to do. You don't want to admit what you know, because once they find out he'll be executed, and you don't want him to die. You don't want anyone else to die. You wish you could have convinced him not to do what he did, because as annoying as Cronus was, as many times as he'd harassed Mituna, there was no reason to _kill_ him. 

You think Mituna's the key to this, though. And he must know it was Kurloz too, from the way he keeps refuting everyone's points.

"You're wrong, chumshucker," he tells Meenah, "No one wanted Cron- _ass_ dead but me. And I was with 'Tula the whole time so there's no way. He must've just fell in or something; this trial's a stupid waste of time."

"Mituna, you saw the bruising around his neck like the rest of us," Jane, the Super Highschool Level Detective, interjects. "He couldn't have done that to himself."

"Why not? Autoerotic asphyxiation sounds just like that fishfucker."

"Now Mituna," Kankri begins, "I know this must be at least as hard for you as it has been for any of us, and perhaps harder because of your animosity toward our now-deceased mutual acquaintance, but it's making me very uncomfortable to hear you speak of Cronus in that matter after what happened—"

"Shove a fork up your ass you piece of shitty fuckshit motherfucking—" Kurloz calmly reaches over and pats his shoulder to get him to stop. There's something between the two of them that you haven't been able to figure out. Not romance, but more than just friendship. Sometimes you think there's a space between the two things, a term that hasn't been invented yet to describe what they have. You've been researching the concept for a few years and have some ideas, but nothing concrete yet. It's something you plan on unveiling to the world eventually, once you've got more evidence, but for the two of them to be your best example Kurloz is going to have to survive this.

It chills you to realize that if he does you won't. Mituna won't either. None of you will. 

It's just not fair. 

Mituna looks over at Kurloz and Kurloz puts a finger to his lips. Our little secret. You dig your nails into your palms. It won't be too much longer. 

*

You're sure everyone mistakes your silence for guilt over the first murder, when it was your telling Damara about Rufioh and Horuss that—

No. It wasn't your fault. Everyone keeps telling you you couldn't have known that showing her the ships you could see blossoming would incite such rage, that you didn't know how she was feeling and you certainly couldn't have known it would start an argument between her and Rufioh in his soundproof bedroom, ending with her snapping his neck and leaving him to die on the ground. No one knew she was capable of that. 

And the worst part was the trial, when Jane had laid out her case and Damara had just nodded, said something akin to "yes, it was me" in her native Japanese and accepted her punishment without another word. 

Your memories of the execution still keep you awake at night, long past your self-imposed curfew. You're sure it's the same for everyone.

*

"Okay, fine, it was me," Mituna says. 

"Thought you were with Pyrope, 'Tunafish," Meenah tells him, looking unimpressed.

"I told her I had to take a piss and when I left I saw Cronus heading to the pool. Drowned his sorry ass and got back before she even noticed."

"Is that true, Latula?" Aranea, Super Highschool Level Historian, asks. 

Latula worries her lip. "He wasn't gone long enough. You _weren't_ , Tunes," she tells him as he sputters, "no, no, you're fucking wrong". "There's no way you could've run all the way up the stairs and down to the pool; you were only gone a few minutes. Just tell them what you know, babe."

"Yeah, Janey's on it so we're gonna find out eventually," Roxy adds. You see Jane blush and wonder if it might be worth taking a minute to amend your shipping wall after this is all over. 

"I'm not. It was me. No one else wanted to kill him but me."

You don't want to die like this. Not on a false confession from someone who's taking the blame for his friend. You're tired of secrets. You're tired of lies.

"He's lying!" you yell, and when everyone looks over at you you know it was loud. Kurloz smiles. _Go on_ , you can imagine him saying. "It was Kurloz. I— He was all wet. I could smell the chlorine before he walked into the laundry room."

"No! That's not right. It was me. It was—" Kurloz puts a hand over Mituna's mouth to stop him. He nods.

"Is that a confession?" Jane asks.

"Who even knows with this freak?" Meenah says.

Kurloz nods again. 

"No, it's my fault," Mituna says. "I told him how much I hated that ass, practically dropped a motive into his hands and I— I couldn't stop him."

"Wait, shut the shell up for a sec. You're nodding 'cause you actually did it?"

Kurloz nods a third time, starting to look bored with her line of questioning. 

"Do you have anything else you'd like to say, er, mime for us before the vote, Kurloz?" Jane asks.

He shakes his head.

"Okay, then!" Monobear says. "Let's start the voting. Please use the buttons in front of you, and don't even think about not voting."

You don't want to vote. You don't want to send Kurloz to his death. But there's no other choice, is there?

It hurts pushing the button with his name on it. You've wanted things to escalate between the two of you for so long, to go from friends to lovers. It was the one good thing you could see happening here, the light at the end of the tunnel. If the two of you were together it might not matter so much that your friends were dying around you, or that the only alternative was to stay isolated from the rest of the world for the remainder of your lives.

You fell for him the moment you met in that empty classroom, the beautiful boy with the painted face and friendly demeanor. And he knew sign, though occasionally he'd come across a concept he wasn't sure of the word for and would mime or fingerspell it out for you. You loved him for it. Loved that the two of you could share secrets, could speak freely without the others having any idea of what you were planning.

You never thought in a million years you'd want to date a Super Highschool Level Mime but you did. It felt like a natural thing to want, considering how much it felt like you'd known him for longer than mere weeks. That's why you shipped the two of you together so hard.

That's why it hurts so much to know he's a murderer.

"That's right! The culprit who killed Cronus Ampora was Kurloz Makara!"

You don't pay attention to what any of the others are saying. It doesn't matter. All of your focus is on Kurloz's face. His expression doesn't change even though he's just been found guilty.

"Why did you do it?" The question slips out of your mouth before you can stop it. He might have had a motive but it still doesn't make sense to you. Kurloz was always so placid, so friendly. You don't get why he would turn to murder the first chance he had.

For an answer he just shakes his head. Puts his finger to his lips. Secret.

_I'm sorry_ , he signs after a moment but you know he's not.

"You stupid piece of fuck!" Mituna yells, and his fist connects with Kurloz's face before anyone can react. 

Kurloz just smiles back at him.

Latula and Dirk run over to grab Mituna before he can do anything else and Kurloz silently walks to his punishment. That's half of your OTP gone forever.

"Wait!" you yell, running over to kiss him before he can get past the chainlink fence. He smells like sweat and greasepaint and an odor that's unmistakably him. You can't tell if he's nervous. He smiles. Brings your hand to his lips for another kiss, then waves goodbye, walking backward and making a show of it.

You start to cry as the gate slams shut.

Multicoloured balls start raining from the ceiling. Kurloz catches the ones that get close and starts juggling. He does really well, even when chainsaws start coming down, catching them deftly in those hands you imagined would one day trace your curves while the two of you snuggled in your bed.

You almost start to believe he's going to beat this, shock Monobear into letting him free again so he can rejoin the rest of you and defeat the real mastermind behind this at his twisted game, at least until a boulder falls from the sky and hits him. The room shakes from the impact. 

It's over.

*

What hurts the most is weeks later when you see photos of the two of you, from that time you no longer remember, blissful expressions that make you realize exactly what true love looks like.


	29. Aradia<>Feferi<>Gamzee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"I brought some marshmallows._   
>  _Let's burn this world down."_   
>  _-a softer world_
> 
> **rating: T**   
>  **warnings: mentions of death, mentions of assisted suicide, Armageddon**

The hilltop your house is situated on is the best place to watch the city burn.

You stare over at your companions. Gamzee is enraptured by the dancing flames and Aradia looks as happy as you've ever seen her.

Armageddon came and went and the three of you are still here.

"Do you like it?" you ask.

"Like it? Sister, it's fucking miraculous," Gamzee tells you, not taking his eyes off of the destruction in front of you for one second. Aradia just nods, lips parted slightly as she takes it all in.

The boy who can't die and the girl who came back from the dead are not proper company for an heiress to keep but who really cares? Not you.

After this there isn't much to inherit, anyway.

*

Hot coals rain down from the sky. Gamzee runs out to catch some, coming back with seared hands. He grins and offers one to each of you. Friendship trinkets, still warm.

You bounce it back and forth between your palms like a hot potato at one of your childhood birthday parties. 

"Aren't you getting one for yourself?" Aradia asks him.

"Nah. Don't need much more than seeing the two of you all happy with it."

"Awww," slips out of your mouth before you can stop it. 

"We could make you a new pair of earrings with these, Feferi," Aradia tells you, holding hers up to her ear to demonstrate. When this is all over maybe you'll see if you can find your jewelry-making kit. Maybe you'll make _frond_ -ship bracelets for the three of you to commemorate this day.

*

Everyone else might perish, but the three of you are safe thanks to Aradia's ghosts and Gamzee's prophecies. You've all known this was coming for years and prepared as well as you could for it. Your house is far enough from the worst of the destruction to stay intact and large enough to stockpile food to last weeks if not months.

"It's wonderful to be alive!" Aradia yells out into the destruction. "Death isn't too bad either, though," she adds.

"I wouldn't have any knowing about that," Gamzee says.

"It's okay," you tell him, placing a hand on his shoulder, "I'm _shore_ you'll get to someday."

"We can help," Aradia says, "When the time comes."

"Aww, sis, you'd do that for me?" When he smiles his entire face lights up. It's adorable. 

"Of course! We wouldn't leave you here alone!"

"Shit, that's about the best thing I've heard all day."

There isn't much good to hear. Mostly just screaming from the nearby village and the roar of the sky. You're not sure how many others are still alive out there, not sure how long the three of you will be able to survive here. 

You're not afraid of dying young, though. Aradia has told you both that the underworld is just a big hangout. You just travel through places you've been and speak with people you knew, and occasionally people who are just looking for something to do with their time.

There isn't much to do besides that. She always says she came back because she got bored. You're glad for it. And just as glad that you and Gamzee will get to join her when she goes back.


End file.
